Chapter Four
Cooper
Stage fright isn’t really my thing. Not usually, anyway. But it doesn’t stop my stomach from swooping the second I step onto the small wooden platform, because it’s been way too long since I performed with Declan in the room.
Two years since he convinced Simone to try out live music nights, two years since I walked out and sang my first cover in front of people other than our classmates.
And I still get the same buzz every time.
All that jittery energy flooding my veins as soon as I plug in, then pouring out through the strings on my electro-acoustic guitar.
Propping one foot on the stool rung, I shift, getting into position for my opening song, my fingers brushing over the frets as I scan the crowd.
My lips twitch when I spot Declan behind the bar, towel slung over his shoulder, dark hair a mess as some blonde in a sparkly mini-skirt, all legs and ass, leans too far on the counter, trying to get his attention.
Rolling my eyes, I adjust the mic, lips pressing together to hide my smirk.
I mean, can I blame her? My best friend’s ridiculously hot, all broad shoulders and muscly arms that look like they’ve been carved from every hour he spends on the ice.
Every time he comes home, he’s filled out more—solid, powerful, with thighs that could probably crack a hockey stick in two without even trying.
“Lost Compass! How you all doin’ tonight?
” I ask into the mic. Cheers explode from the regulars up near the front of the stage, and I let them calm before throwing out, “Before we get started, can we make some noise for our very own number twelve working behind the bar, Denver’s leading goal scorer and Taunton Fall’s very own golden boy… Declan Cohennnnnn.”
His eyes go wide, his flush climbing fast, and I grin like a fool, laughing harder when he flips his middle finger up at me while the customers go wild.
“Okay, okay, enough about our future NHL-star. How about we start with a classic, eh?”
The first chord of “Take It Easy” by The Eagles rings through the amp, the music settling deep in my soul.
This… This right here is where I feel most like myself.
The gentle vibration of the strings, the steady hum in my chest, the crowd already clapping along.
The Lost Compass isn’t much, but when I close my eyes, it could be anywhere.
A stadium, a festival stage, the kind of place where dreams don’t hit the ceiling.
My chest pulls tight and expands at the same time, a restless ache spreading through me because, God, I want that. I want all of it.
By the fourth song, a Fleetwood Mac classic, the bar’s a blur of swaying bodies and slurred harmonies that I feed off every time. Glancing across the room again, my gaze meets Declan’s, and my lips curl upward as I sing. He looks straight at me from over the beer taps, a reverent smile on his face.
I didn’t realize just how much I missed that look. That steady-as-ever, unhindered belief in me always shows so clearly in his expressions.
My set gets a new lease on life, and I grin so wide my cheeks start to ache.
Lyrics feel different, each song better than the last as I sing my damn heart out.
I forget all about the worry of where this dream will take me and just play until I’m practically glowing brighter than the Christmas tree in the corner.
It might not be Madison Square Garden, but they’re sure as hell making it feel that way.
Declan’s still watching, dark eyes locked on mine and never wavering, even while serving customers. I wink at him mid-chorus, my voice never cracking as I reach a high note. And now it sort of feels like I’m singing just for him. And yeah, maybe I push a little harder because he’s watching.
Sue me.
As I hit the final chorus, the room roars until the last chord fades under a wave of applause. The same emotion I get each time I finish a song swells deep in my stomach. I beam, basking in the joy, the excitement, the pride at having all their attention on me.
“Thank you,” I say breathlessly into the mic, giving them a quick bow before lifting my guitar strap over my head and setting it in the stand. “Gonna take a quick break. Don’t go anywhere.”
Simone bumps the house lights up a little and turns on some generic playlist on the surround sound. Hopping off stage, I weave through the crowd, dodging outstretched arms, pausing for a selfie, soaking up the atmosphere as I approach the bar.
Because this is what’s waiting for me when I finally make it.
“God, I love you,” I say, mouth watering as Declan slides another cocktail and glass of water toward me. Our fingers brush as I reach for the glass, downing half in one go. The bourbon bites just the way I like it, burning all the way to my stomach. “Tell me you’ve missed this.”
He wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Missed being slammed behind the bar with no break? Sure.”
“Think of the tips,” I say, straw between my teeth, grinning as he glares at me. “I mean, this… Me singing, you feeding me booze.”
This. Us. The way it’s always been. Doesn’t matter how long he’s away, we snap right back like he never left.
Huffing, he shakes his head as he cracks open a new bottle of triple sec, before dusting half of the rim of a glass with salt. “Pretty sure you just missed not paying for your drinks.”
“Perks of my best friend working behind the bar,” I tease, laughing when he rolls his eyes.
But I don’t miss the way his mouth twitches, that tiny not-quite-a-smile he does when he’s trying not to.
“Speaking of which. You, me, pancakes tomorrow, walk up The Verge, then I’m picking the cheesiest Christmas movie known to man. ”
“And risk breaking my ankle before playoffs?” he teases, the path to one of our favorite places in the whole town a deathtrap in winter. “Besides, you know I’ve got skating practice in the morning, right?”
“Duh. That’s why my alarm is set for the ungodly hour of five a.m. I’m coming with you.”
I don’t care if he’s back for ten days or ten minutes, I’m claiming every second.
“You don’t need to—” he starts to say, but I cut him off, pushing my empty glass into his hand.
“And waste a single second of your winter break without you? Hell no.”
“So needy,” he mutters under his breath, but there’s no heat in it.
I gasp mockingly, ready to snap back when Simone’s head pops over Declan’s shoulder, red festive earrings dangling as she thumbs toward the stage. “Cooper, honey, you ready for round two?”
“Always.” I grin, grabbing the untouched water with a wink. Stepping away from the bar, I point toward my best friend. “Hockey, pancakes, and Hallmark. Don’t bail on me.”
Before he can answer, I jog toward the stage as the crowd starts clapping again, calling my name.